Never Alone
by domina tempore
Summary: Every iron statue was preceded by a thousand lead crosses…the Doctor and Donna witness the plague before the golden age.


**Doctor Who:**_ Never Alone_

_(Title: "Never Alone" by BarlowGirl)_

_by: domina tempore (formerly "jewel of athos")_

_Prompt Word: renaissance (response to the Traveller's Tales Prompt 37 at doctor_donna on Livejournal; and SO much thanks to them for letting me have extra days to meet the deadline!)_

_Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all of its characters and locations etc. belong to their respective owners. I own only my original storylines. No copyright infringement intended!_

_Summary: Every iron statue was preceded by a thousand lead crosses…the Doctor and Donna witness the plague before the golden age._

_Author's Note: This one was a LOT harder for me than I thought it was going to be; I ended up working on it for almost two weeks. I loved the prompt, but none of the images in my head came out even remotely right. This is not what I originally planned, but the angst won out in the end. As usual…_

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_Renaissance. _

The Doctor had spoken the word in a hushed voice, tantalizing and rich with just a touch of the mysterious that Donna loved so much about traveling with him. She had agreed almost immediately that this was where they should go next, to see the great age of creativity that the Doctor described, going on about the art and literature and discovery that had occurred during that span of years. He'd spoken of kings, great artists and philosophers who had graced the Earth with beauty and knowledge. He had made her long to see these people, these world-shapers who had made such a great impact on history. She had jumped at the chance.

They had landed too early, near the very beginning. The movement had started, but it had not yet taken hold; the world was in the grip of the great Plague. Instead of finding rich paintings and wise old scholars, they stepped out of the TARDIS into a dark village, empty of hope and steeped in death. The very heart of sickness and suffering. Where there should have been laughter and goodwill they found only screaming, and tears, and prayers for the dying. Looming, finely crafted statues were not yet formed to guard the streets and squares; the height of art in this place was hundreds of small, simple metal crosses for the dead to carry with them on their journey. Hands that should have been strong and able curled shakily around them, thin and stiff. Dull lips kissed them as heavy eyes closed for the last time.

Donna had cried for them. This was different than anything else she had seen before with the Doctor; in spite of his name, he did not have the power to save these people. She wanted to blame him for their suffering and beg him to ease the pain of the dying, but she knew that he couldn't. He was as powerless as she in this place and he _hated_ it; and so instead she wept, and he held her, and they shared the burden.

"_I thought this was supposed to be a time of learning."_

"_I'm sorry, Donna."_

"_So many people, Doctor. So alone…"_

"_I'm sorry."_

They both knew what it was like to be alone. It was because of that, that Donna could not allow these people to die that way. What was the point of coming to this place if there was nothing that they could do there? She did not pretend for one second that she thought herself powerful or important, as if she alone could erase the pain of these many passings; but she was selfless and compassionate, and she knew how to comfort. In spite of the Doctor's misgivings and suggestions of other destinations, she insisted that they stay. Blindly trusting that either he or the TARDIS would somehow be able to protect her, she visited every sick house. She had not been to church much since she was a child, but here she found herself asked to pray with each man, woman, or child; a part of their last rites, and she was heartfelt and honest and pure.

The Doctor stood back watching and let her do what she had to. He felt the pain as keenly as she, but he was too good at detaching himself from suffering that he could not prevent; so he focused on her pain instead of theirs. That at least he would be able to heal. But he was not as willing as she was to dwell in their suffering.

They stayed for three days, watching as a once thriving village was reduced to ashes, wiped out by Blackness. They helped to bury the dead, and they worked together to dig the graves that would be the last homes for the villagers. They were the only ones left to say goodbye when the few healthy who remained moved on, leaving their homes in flames behind them to purge the sickness. Only the Doctor and Donna saw the village fall to dust. Unconsciously, their hands met and grasped, and they paid their final respects to the poor souls whose lives had been lost. Only when the last flickering lights had gone out did they return to the TARDIS, heavy with grief from what they had witnessed. The Doctor felt responsible and guilty for what had occurred.

"_I'm sorry, Donna. I'm so sorry; I should never have brought you here…"_

"_Don't you dare say that, Spaceman. Never."_

"…_You've got no regrets, then?"_

"_None."_

_fin._

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_A/N: …As usually, I'm not *completely* satisfied with how I ended it; it need work, but what I was going to do at first would throw off the mood of the fic, and I didn't want that. _


End file.
